The Wolfe (18 page)

“Do not tell me you are afraid of
one small female,” he said.

Paris pursed his lips in irritation.
“By your command, then,” he said. “I knew it would be foolish to even suggest
such a thing. Oh, and by the way, I loathe you, my lord.”

William nodded to him slightly,
crossing his arms. “And I, you.”

They broke their little conference
and Paris went over to Jemma, scrutinizing her impatiently.

“Well, my little banshee, it seems
that you and I are to be constant companions,” he said distastefully.

Jemma looked just about as happy as
he was. They glared at each other a moment before Paris loosely indicated her clothing.

“Is that all you have to wear?” he
demanded.

Jemma’s eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, my
lord, but I had not the room to carry my silk surcoat.”

He put his hands on his hips. “I
will be seen with no peasant washerwoman.”

Jemma was near to explode. Her small
face turned red and her mouth worked and Jordan could see that she would be
sent back to Langton this night if she did not intervene. Rushing to Jemma’s
side, she grabbed her cousin’s arm and squeezed.

“My lord, Jemma is welcome to all
that I have,” she said quickly. “I will bathe her and send her to ye a proper
lady.”

Paris’ eyes softened on Jordan. “You
are most generous, my lady.”

Without so much as another glance,
Paris quit the tent and was followed closely by Kieran. William sighed; it
seemed as if they would get no sleep tonight.

***

A hasty bath was prepared for Jemma
and Jordan roughly scrubbed her cousin, showing her just how much she
disapproved of her actions. Jemma muttered and grumbled, but she did not raise
her voice as William had instructed her. Jordan thought it amazing that Jemma
had yet to yell, considering how roughly she was bathing her.

Scoured to within an inch of her
life, Jordan ordered her out of the tub and dried her vigorously. As Jemma used
the linen cloth to dry her hair, Jordan dressed her in an emerald green brocade
surcoat with a slim bodice and long, slim sleeves.

The dress fit her well enough, but
it was at least 3 inches too long in the skirt. Jordan frowned.

“Ye’ll just have to lift it high
when ye walk, otherwise it will become a muddy mess,” she told her cousin. “Here,
put the breeches and slippers on.”

Jemma obediently did as she was
asked while Jordan took over the hair duty. She brushed it vigorously with her
horsehair brush, holding it up and letting the strands fall individually so
that the air would dry it. The brazier in the room was giving off little heat
but she did her best. At one point she brushed particularly hard and Jemma let
out a yelp.

“Ooch, woman, do ye try and pull my
hair from my head?” she said angrily. It was the first hostile thing she had
said yet.

Jordan eyed her. “Shut up and let me
finish. I should be asleep by now, not bathing my idiotic cousin.”

Jemma scowled. “Dunna call me that.
We’ve already said what needed saying.”

Jordan brushed harder a-purpose and Jemma
jumped up, yanking the brush away and glaring at her. I shall do it myself,”
she snarled.

Jordan’s jaw ticked and she pulled
her silk bed robe closer about her as she watched Jemma dry her own hair. She
was so angry at her cousin but, truthfully, she was glad as well. Now it seemed
that she would not be facing her future alone.

“Does Aunt Lilith know ye’re here?”
she asked.

Jemma shook her head. “Nay,” she
replied. “I told no one. Except, I think Caladora might have guessed.”

Jordan shook her head. “Poor Callie.
She will be lonely without us.”

Jemma brushed slower. “I know. But
ye need me more than she does. She has our kin and ye are all alone.”

Jordan smiled a little. “Ye’re a
good soul sometimes, ye know? Even if ye are daft.”

Jemma looked at her. “Then ye want
me here?”

Jordan nodded in spite of herself. “Aye,
I do,” she said. “But ye had better behave, especially with regard to the
knights. They do not play games, Jemma. Believe me.”

Jemma nodded thoughtfully. “The big
man with the dark hair, William? Is he The Wolf?”

“Aye,” Jordan replied, feeling a
strange warmth in her belly. “He is a gentle man. Kind, too.”

“He is a brute,” Jemma sniffed.

Jordan sat down and watched her
cousin finish with her hair.  Her thoughts were pensive, lingering on William.

“Do ye want to know something?” she
said softly. “I think that he would do anything I asked of him.”

“Why?” Jemma asked, perplexed.

Jordan shrugged. “I dunno. ‘Tis a
gut feeling I have, and the actions I have seen from him,” she tried to
explain. “I bet I could get him to do most anything.”

Jemma smiled mischievously. “What
would ye bet?”

Jordan caught on to the game
immediately and grinned. “I would bet my burgundy silk surcoat and cloak, the
one you love so much,” she said confidently.

Jemma stopped brushing for a moment.
“Ye would?” she exclaimed. “Ha. I accept. What will ye have him do? It has to
be most humiliating.”

“Wait,” Jordan cautioned. “Ye have
not told me what ye will bet should ye lose.”

Jemma thought quickly. “I have
nothing with me, so ye may name yer price if and when ye win.”

Jordan shook her head. “Nay, I shall
name my price now. Ye have to be nice to Sir Paris should I win.”

“What?” Jemma was outraged. “Be nice
to that beast?”

Jordan smiled. “That is the price.”

“Very well,” Jemma waved
begrudgingly. “So be it. Now what will ye have The Wolf do?”

“I dunno,” Jordan said. “But I will
know when the time is right. I will prove to ye that I have power over these English
knights.”

Jemma smiled jubilantly. “What a
wonderful thing,” she said. “If it ‘tis true, then I shall bow humbly before ye
as the greatest Scott that has ever lived. The Scott that will finally bring
the English to their knees.”

Jordan’s smile faded. She did not
want to conquer them, only prove an arrogant point to her cousin. But Jemma still
saw this entire situation as a war.

“We are no longer at war with them,”
she said after a moment. “I would not be cruel in my humiliation. Simply a joke.”

“Not be cruel? Why not?” Jemma
demanded.

“Because the knights of Northwood
have been kind to me,” Jordan shot out of her chair with much more passion than
she had intended. “These men have been patient and generous for the most part
and I will not be heartless in return; not even to satisfy yer bloodlust.”

“They are English,” Jemma was back
to fighting with her, completely forgetting her promise to William. “They have
no heart, no soul, and no conscience. I wonder just how many of our kin the
Northwood knights have personally killed?”

“And I wonder how many of our kin
have killed their family and friends?” Jordan fired back. “It goes on both
sides of the wall, Jemma. We are not the only ones who have suffered.”

Jemma was red. “By God, how can ye
defend these bastards? Is it possible that they have infected yer thinking with
sweet words and kindness to make ye forget who they are?”

Jordan was shaking with fury. “Shut
up, Jemma. Ye are a stupid, vicious person and I will not speak to ye anymore
of it.”

Jordan turned away and Jemma threw
down the brush, hitting the tub with a resounding clang. “Ye’re a damn traitor,
‘tis what ye are,” she snarled. “Ye like it here, don’t ye?”

Jordan whirled on her cousin with
lightning speed, her hands forming claws as she moved for her. She was mad
enough to kill because Jemma was voicing the same thoughts she herself was
having. But she had to deny it to her death, even if it meant getting the
living daylights beat out of her by her smaller-but-stronger cousin. She would
die denying the kind feelings she felt for the

English knights. For William.

Fortunately for her, William had
heard the screeching and chose to enter the tent just as Jordan was moving for Jemma.
Quick as a flash he grabbed Jordan, pulling her away and calling for Paris.

Paris was right behind him. Not
surprised they were fighting again, he firmly took Jemma’s arm and pulled her
to the tent flap. But William stopped him before he could leave with her.

“Put Lady Jemma on the back of
Corin’s destrier and send him to Langton,” he said in a commanding tone. “I
warned you, Lady Jemma. I will not tolerate a troublemaker.”

Jordan was so mad she started to cry.
He thought she was crying because he was sending Jemma back. He immediately wished
he had not issued the order, but he would not back down.

“Get her out of here,” he told
Paris.

“No. Wait.” Jordan sobbed. “‘Twas my
fault, my lord. I… I antagonized her. If ye will notice, ‘twas me who was
advancing on her, not the other way around. Ye may send me back if ye wish, but
Jemma.., she did not start anything.”

William was mightily torn. He did
not want to back down on an order, especially not in front of the women. He was
a man who kept his word, and he would. But mayhap not tonight. Mayhap he would let
them all sleep on it. Much to his dismay, he realized he was about to rescind a
direct order.

Angry, he jerked his head at Paris. “Out
of my sight. I will deal with her on the morrow.”

“Aye, My lord,” Paris pulled Jemma
from the tent.

Jordan was sobbing softly in his
arms, her back to his chest. He should have let her go but he did not want to.
She needed comfort and he meant to give it.

“Are you all right?” he asked
softly.

She nodded her head and pulled away
from him, wiping her hands at her face. “Jemma has the power to drive me to
tears sometimes,” she said lamely. “She can drive one quite mad.”

She was lying. She was crying because
Jemma had called her a traitor and she was right.

He smiled at her. “It seems she has
that effect on Paris as well, though I have yet to see him in tears.”

She sniffed and smiled at him,
wiping her eyes daintily. “Wait until morning.”

He grinned, showing his even teeth.
He was pleased that she was calming and hoped that now they could get to bed.
The thought of sleeping next to her tonight left him warm and eager. But it would
seem that Jordan had other plans.

“Where is Sir Jason so that I might tend
him?” she asked.

William’s jaw dropped a little but
he recovered. He had forgotten all about her earlier request and hoped she had,
too.

Right now he was not sure if it was
a good idea for her to see Jason in her agitated state. She and Jemma were near
ready to kill each other and now she wanted to go and see a man that could have
easily killed her.

Still, he had promised. Reluctantly,
he indicated for her to follow him.

Jordan picked up her skirts and
began to pick her way through the muck because of her clean slippers. At that
rate it would take her all night. Muttering to himself, William bent down and
swept her into his arms.

“Sir knight, I am quite capable of
walking,” she said primly.

He ignored her. Pouting, she
nonetheless put her arms around his neck as he trudged off around the compound.

Jason lay on a fur pallet in a tent
lit by a fish oil lamp. Someone had fixed him some sort of poultice to hold
over his face and he was unaware when William and Jordan entered.

William sat her down gently and
stood back with his hands on his hips.

“Jason,” he said coldly.

Jason twitched, then sat forward
quickly. Only his black-ringed eyes were visible over the pack. William looked
at him impassively.

“Lady Jordan wishes to observe your
wound,” he informed him.

Jason dropped the poultice to reveal
a hugely swollen face. Jordan did not even recognize him and inwardly winced at
the pain he must be feeling, not to mention the hate and anger towards her. Those
thoughts were emphasized by the glare in his brown eyes.

“I have no need for her,” he
growled.

Jordan pursed her lips irritably,
unimpressed by his hostility. She had expected as much and did not blame him.

“Dunna act the martyr, Jason,” she
told him. “Let me look at yer face.”

His eyes spit venom at her. “I’d
rather die first.”

William had just about enough of the
blatant hatred the boy was directing toward Jordan. He obviously had yet to
learn his lesson.

“That can be arranged,” he said it
like he meant it.

Jordan did not want William antagonizing
him. She put up a hand to quiet him pleadingly before turning back to Jason.

“Then suit yerself,” she said. “Ye
were quite a handsome man, Sir Jason, and it is possible that I could help ye,
but if ye are too proud to accept help from a Scot, then ye deserve to be
disfigured.”